Don't Fear the Reaper
by thepiraticalconductor
Summary: David Karofsky works out of the back of his Chevy Impala, driving across the country to hunt down and destroy demonic creatures. After one particularly nasty night in Louisiana, he awakes to a rare direct order: an incubus named Blaine Anderson.


**Prologue: Feast**

The boy's name was Jeremiah. At least, that was what Blaine _thought_ it was. He remembered the boy saying something along those lines in the bar. To be fair, Blaine didn't care about his name. He just saw the tall, fair and handsome frame and went for it. It was his way. A body came first. The person inside it came later.

Jeremiah was more well endowed then most of the men Blaine had found in Indianapolis. Tall, slim and fair, skin as smooth as silk. He drank anything Blaine had pushed into his hands, his body getting more and more pliant as each glass of alcohol slipped down his throat. It was simple enough really, to seduce them. Humans, much less men, were pretty much all the same. They had the same reactions to physical stimuli, the same reactions to a brush of fingers over such and such a patch of skin, the same reactions to just Blaine being Blaine.

Jeremiah's nails dug into his thighs as Blaine rode him, leaving half-moon marks in the slightly tanned skin. His eyes were clouded with the effects of lust and an overabundance of absinthe. His blonde hair stuck out in all directions, a mess of curls that stuck to the cheap motel sheets. If he had been thinking more clearly, Jeremiah would have been furious with himself. For years he had been telling himself, "I'm not gay. I don't like boys. It's just a phase and it'll go away soon." But the feelings and thoughts that Jeremiah tried so hard to block out just kept coming back. Going to college just made it worse.

College meant new friends, no parents and a way out of that tiny town in the middle of nowhere Indiana. Indianapolis was...exotic, in people as well as culture, and no more so than in the underground gay scene. It had been his first night out, dragged by his roommate's girlfriend to some club with a name he couldn't even pronounce.

Blaine had been out on the dance floor by himself, moving to a beat all his own. In hindsight, there had always been something different about him, something that seemed to just radiate from his very being. His eyes had flashed to Jeremiah's and he'd smirked and crooked his finger. _Come and get me, big boy_, he could practically hear Blaine saying in his head.

Oh, had Jeremiah got him.

His hips thrust up, pushing his cock even deeper into the tight ass riding him. Blaine cried out and arched his back so far, Jeremiah thought it would snap.

"So hot..." he breathed, digging his nails into Blaine's hips. "Fuck, so hot, never going back," he growled as Blaine's nails dragged down his chest. Blaine purred and clenched around Jeremiah's cock, staring down at him with lust filled eyes.

"There's no crime in giving yourself over to pleasure, Jeremiah. After all, what else is there to live for?" Blaine's laugh was cut short by as gasp as Jeremiah hit his prostate. "God, yes. So close, yes!" he cried, throwing his head back. Sweat slicked every inch of his skin and his cock made a soft thump against Jeremiah's stomach with each bounce. He was leaking and pulsing and little patches of red had broken out all over his skin. "Please, Jeremiah..." he moaned. "Please, give it to me. I'm so close. I need it, so bad. I need you." Blaine cried out again and dug his nails into Jeremiah's shoulders.

Well, how could Jeremiah resist an invitation like that? His hands grabbed Blaine's hips and helped him move, fucking up into him like his life depended on it. Blaine just kept wailing and scratching and moaning and begging, the perfect picture of eroticism.

"Fuck, Blaine...fuck! I'm gonna...fucking...blow!" Any shred of self-consciousness Jeremiah had had been thrown out the window, lost in a haze of sex and pleasure.

"Yes, Jeremiah, yes!" Blaine wailed. His head fell forward and right in front of Jeremiah's eyes, his face changed completely. His eyes turned a shimmering black, no white or iris. His face split into a grin and his nails dragged down his chest again, drawing blood.

"Blaine?" the blond said. "Blaine, what's with your eyes?"

"Nothing's wrong, baby," Blaine purred. His voice was deeper, rougher and oh, so much sexier. "Please, Jeremiah? I need it. I'm so..._hungry_," he cackled. His hips kicked into high gear and Jeremiah was powerless to prevent his orgasm.

The pressure on his lower stomach had just reached an unbearable level when suddenly...something broke. Jeremiah felt like his body had lost all of its weight and he was floating above the bed. Blaine had thrown his head back again, apparently in a state of bliss. The patches of skin on Jeremiah's chest and legs where Blaine touched had started to glow, beans of golden light twining their way up Blaine's arms and back to his heart. Jeremiah felt like he was being sucked down a drain, like every molecule in his body was being transferred into Blaine, bit by bit.

"Blaine, stop!" he cried out, trying to shove the smaller man off of him. He didn't even budge. "Stop it! Stop it, I can't...I can't breathe!" Jeremiah tried to gasp, but it didn't bring him any relief. He tried to move, but his limbs wouldn't obey him. Blaine looked down at him again with those horrible black eyes and he bent down until he was nose to nose with Jeremiah.

"If it's any consolation, Jeremiah...you are _delicious_," Blaine growled and attached his mouth to Jeremiah's, cutting off the boy's scream. His eyes flew open and stared into the black abyss of Blaine's. For a split second, every cell in Jeremiah's body was on fire, a perfect storm of pleasure. And just as suddenly...it was gone.

Blaine pulled back when Jeremiah's eyes went blank. His eyes slowly returned to their normal hazel color and his heaving chest finally calmed.

"Such a shame. They burn out so quickly," he whispered, stroking a finger down the side of Jeremiah's face. He sighed and shifted his weight until Jeremiah's cock slid out of him with a little pop. Blaine shivered and moved about the room to gather his clothes. Most of the candles Jeremiah had set up had burned down, but Blaine didn't have the heart to extinguish them. It was almost romantic, he had to admit.

When he had finally put his cardigan back on, after much creaking from his spent body, he made for the door. He looked back at Jeremiah, dead on the bed. For a moment, Blaine considered it. He had had this body for a long time, almost seventy years now. He shook his head, turned the knob and walked back out onto the Indianapolis street, almost sad that he hadn't had the chance to explain to Jeremiah what he was. They could have made a great pair.

After all, that was quite a head of hair.


End file.
